This is the reality. I can no longer avoid it, rename it, dodge away from the facts, or nervously giggle in its face. This is happening, and if I don’t accept it, I will live the rest of my life in denial and, let’s be honest, I’m not even quite twenty years old yet [though the days are dwindling], and that is just NO way to begin a happy, well-adjusted, adult life.
I have to take a deep breath before I say this.
I. Am. Turning. Into. My. Mother.
There, it’s out. It’s not so scary, right? RIGHT? I don’t have to be terrified of this impending situation, correct? Could somebody please hand me a paper bag??!
The transformation has been subtle, but steady. Daddy has looked at me in sheer wonder [because of the ridiculous things that I say, the silly demands that I make, the illogical ways in which I think, etc] and has shaken his head, saying, “You are JUST like your mother,” nearly every day since I was twelve. I should have seen this coming a long time ago.
Still, it was a terrifying, huge, magnificent realization to face in Meijer, of all places. This is when the gradual process turned a corner and began to full-out sprint. There I was, innocently buying groceries and snacks so that I could host a bunch of friends [exhibit A] to play games at my apartment [exhibit B] that night. With my conscious mind a million miles away, I was suddenly shoveling those sugary, bright gummi worms into a thin, plastic bag…if you have EVER been to my mother’s house for ANY reason, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about.
I stopped. I stared. I panicked a little bit. But in the end, I popped a gummi into my mouth, made my purchases, lit candles in my apartment [exhibit Y], and hosted one heck of a game night. Jewels would have been so proud.
That’s not it, though. Oh no. Through the semester, I have had people in my apartment nearly every weekend that I have been here. I have begun to COOK [batten down the hatches…it’s not been as bad as I thought] and I even revisited the idea BAKING.
I drink coffee. I discuss farm animals like I know what I’m talking about. I fret about politics here and there. I get annoyed when my bathroom isn’t clean. I watch Jon and Kate Plus 8 like it’s my job. It’s all getting out of hand, really.
The straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, however, delicately topped the list on Sunday night. With Thanksgiving Break glowing on the horizon like the sun after hurricane season, I buckled. I did something that I swore I would never do. I joined the ranks of hypocrites as I bent my head in shame and partook in an activity for which thoroughly enjoy chastising my mother.
That’s right. I began to listen to Christmas music. And I have enjoyed it everyday since then. What is a poor girl to do??!!
Really, there are worse things that could happen. I could be turning into, I don’t know, someone awful. I love Julie, so…I can do this, right? I can adopt characteristics of my mother without freaking out, right??
I don’t know about the not freaking out part, but as long as I’m not decorating my house with roosters and American flags and crying at 5k races, I think I’m still on the verge of sanity. When we cross that line, somebody let me know.